ONCE UPON ANOTHER TIME
by PamEargle
Summary: This is my version of what happened in-between the end of the musical and LOVE NEVER DIES.
1. What now?

I have been working on this for a long time.

This is my version of what occurs between the end of the musical and LOVE NEVER DIES. Based on the revelations in LOVE NEVER DIES.

Dedicated to my fellow Phan, Michelle Gliottoni Rodriguez. Thank you for being a friend and inspiring me to actually write and publish this. You are the greatest Phiction writer ever.

* * *

She slowly and reluctantly took Raoul's offered hand, hoping he didn't notice that she glanced back over her shoulder more than once as they hurried to the shore of the lake. He took up the pole after she settled in among the Persian pillows. They made their way silently across the still, dark waters to freedom. It seemed to take years before they reached the other side.

"Christine..." The stern urgency in his voice roused her from the deep thoughts she'd been in during their journey back to the Opera House. She timidly lifted her eyes to his. "We're here," he said, reaching for her hand yet again. This time, she ignored it and pulled herself out of the small boat. Without a word or a look back, she quickly headed up the stone stairs, Raoul on her heels. "Be careful," he called out. "Slow down," he added, maybe a touch of amusement in his tone. They reached the torch-light hallway leading to her dressing room mirror. She expertly pressed a hidden switch and the glass slid into the wall. She stepped through and continued on. There was only one thing she wanted to do do at this moment. "Christine, stop," he said, reaching out to grasp her wrist. She yanked it free and rounded on him.

"Thank you for your concern, but there is something I must do," she told him. Then she turned away from him and moved on, sweeping across the balcony.

"You need to go home," he said.

"No, Raoul," she said. She paused and composed herself. It was the first time she stopped to reflect since before the opera began hours ago. She took a deep breath and released it. "I need to do what I must do," she replied. She paused on the steps of the Grand Foyer and turned to him once again. "I am fine. I will rest when I am done," she assured him. "Please do not fear for me. I have never needed your fear or pity or protection. I have needed your understanding, help and guidance. You have given me none of that. Allow me some time." The look in her eyes told him she meant it. He let her turn away and finish her determined decent.

She rounded the corner and rushed into the left wing, instinct telling her that that was where she would find her. Managers Andre and Firmin greeted her awkwardly at the door and they were hesitant in letting her see Carlotta.

"I will be as brief as I can. There are things she MUST know... I think it might help her..." she explained, a slight, closed mouth smile spreading across her lips.

The men nodded.

Upon entering the posh, dimly light room, she softly closed the door behind her. Carlotta was not visible. Christine's eyes scanned the area and she silently decided that Carlotta was behind the scrim along the back wall. With a sigh, she sank into the armchair reserved for guests. She closed her eyes and it couldn't have been a moment until the diva appeared. She was not tall or short. She was neither painfully skinny or truly stout. She was an honestly beautiful woman. Her long auburn red hair was completely loose and cascaded uncharacteristically around her broad, strong shoulders. Her normally sparkling brown eyes were dull and red-rimmed from hard-cried tears. She wore a pale pink, fur trimmed floor length robe. Christine stood out of respect. She was relived and pleased to receive a cordial albeit sad nod instead of a narrow-eyed glare. She waited until the woman settled herself on her red chaise before speaking.

"I am sorry for your loss..." she offered quietly. It seemed pointless as words were useless in these situations. What could you say to the woman who lost her lover in your name?

Carlotta bowed her head. "I 'ave yet to comprehend my loss," she retorted, not harshly or rudely, but despondently.

Christine could bare it no longer and rushed forward to fall at her feet. Tears began to sting her eyes as she looked up at the older singer. "I did not mean or want for any of this to happen. I meant you no harm," she began.

Carlotta raised a trembling hand. Christine blinked and watched as Carlotta turned her head to met her gaze. To her surprise, the Italian tenderly laid her right hand on her left cheek.

"I know, child, I know," she said. Then she patted gently.

After everything they had been through over the last 3 years, this was the first time they had communicated. No more words were needed. Christine remained in the reverent position on her knees. Carlotta even offered an almost imperceptible smile. Carlotta finally understood that Christine had no desire to usurp her place or outshine her. Christine believed that Carlotta was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. She felt so sorry for her. Everything that happened to her was undeserved. They both thought it was a shame such a tragic and senseless act was what it took to bring them together.

"What... will you do?" Christine asked naively, finally breaking the silence that had settled upon them.

Carlotta removed her hand from her cheek and shrugged dramatically. "I have no idea," she began. "We were to be married... He..." she tried. She began to sob again. Christine finally stood and sat beside her. She let her cry, simply sitting close to her to let her know she was not alone. She had never seen such grief except in her father after her mother died. "Why? Ubaldo never did anyt'ing wrong... All 'e did was love me."

Christine was touched. "There are many things that happen we will never have an answer to... There are many things that... the ghost... did that not even HE knows why," she offered. "He has suffered, too..." she added, her voice shaky with emotion. "I know it does not bring Piangi back or change anything... Perhaps it can help in understanding..."

"Understanding what? Dat 'e is a crazy man with no 'eart who kills innocent men?" she cried out.

"Oh, he is not crazy. He is a genius... That is part of his problem. He is faster and smarter than all of us put together... He has a heart, but it is broken..."

"... And belongs to you..." Carlotta added, almost proudly.

Christine nodded. "Just as Piangi's belonged to you... There is much of the story you do not know. There is much still I myself do not know... One day I will write a long letter to you with all of the details... When the wounds are not as fresh," she said.

Carlotta nodded. "I would like that... And I do not tink you are mad. Well, not any more, anyway."

"And I do not think you are an evil woman," she countered.

They embraced and held it, not knowing what else to say. They were both emotionally exhausted and it was all too new. They were still in shock and would be for some time.

* * *

Later, once Christine was back in her meager apartment, she regarded herself in her full length mirror. Her waist length, deep brown ringlets were tussled and her face was pale and her soft cheeks were streaked with the tracks of her tears, The wedding gown she wore, the one HE had for her and forced her into, was actually the one she would have chosen. How strange. Raoul knew nothing of fashion or her tastes.

The bridge was crossed, so now she... THEY... had to stand and watch it burn. Just the words she had sung mere hours ago.

Like Carlotta, she had no idea of what to do next.

She had followed her head and not her heart. She was terrified it would be her downfall. Falling into her bed, she sobbed uncontrollably until she fell into a fitful sleep.


	2. A red scarf

Christine woke late the next morning. She took a long bath and washed her dark ringlets carefully, relaxing in the warm water and silence. Her mind drifted back to the kiss... It was the first act of affection that she had not been forced to show. Somehow, it made her strong and determined to grow up. It was time she stood on her own, make her own decisions.

After three days of solitude, she decided it was time to rejoin the world. Piangi's funeral would be the perfect chance to step out and be herself for once.

Dressed in a delicate black velvet mourning gown and matching cape, she swept into Notre Dame, her head held high despite the quiet chatter and disapproving glares. She found Carlotta and embraced the receptive diva with all her heart.

"I am glad you could make it... I 'ave been t'inking about you," she said softly as they slowly pulled apart.

"And I you, madame," Christine replied sweetly, nodding.

The heartbreaking service began and ended in a blur for everyone. Ubaldo Piangi was laid to rest in a grand tomb.

Carlotta was not permitted the benefits of a grieving widow, but that is what she was and people would treat her as such.

The next day, Christine sent for Raoul. It was time she faced him again... over lunch. She dressed in a red damask gown trimmed in white lace and had a traditional Parisian lunch prepared. He appeared at her door promptly at mid-day, roses in hand and a smile on his handsome face. The woman chaperon busied herself in the small foyer while they settled at the tiny table.

"I am happy you sent for me, Christine. I was beginning to worry I would never see you again," he confessed, lifting a bite of fresh bread to his mouth."I hear you went un-accompanied to Piangi's funeral," he said, his voice like that of a reprimanding older brother.

"I wanted to pay my respects," she said, lifting a spoonful of bisque to her lips.

"You should have called me," he said tersely. "And you are wearing red. Is that appropriate?" he chided.

She ignored his attitude. "Raoul... We MUST not pretend things are the same between us," she said bluntly, seeing no reason to play games. She sat her spoon down and fixed her eyes on his. "I am no longer a child. You are not my ..."

"I am your fiance, Christine. We are to be married," he reminded her sternly.

Christine bowed her head and closed her eyes. "That is why I called you here..." she said, lifting her head and letting her eyes meet his once more. "I have a gift for you after we finish our meal. There are things... I must tell you..." she said. The look in his eyes was one she had never seen. It was as if he was questioning her place to speak to him about anything, let alone a subject she would bring up. She sensed in him a change. He was quick to temper, gruff with her even, and they had not even seen each other in almost a week.

The landlord and maid cleared the dishes as they retired to the small settee and arm chair in her plain but elegant drawing room. She reached into the drawer beside her and carefully pulled out her red scarf. She held it out to him. "Take it in remembrance of me... of US... of our childhood. I can not be your wife, Raoul... I will only hold you back. I am nothing but an actress with nothing to my name but rumors and shame. I can not give you what you are looking for anymore. I can not be a willing, deceived puppet... A trophy, an obligation, a project," she said. "Do you really want to lose your money and your family because of me? There are many women who would wear the title of Vicomtess de Chagny much better than I," she said. "We were children together, but we did not grown up together and we can not grow old together. We are different people with different needs from different worlds... We can not be," she said.

He was still and all the color had run from his thin, handsome face. Reaching out he took the scarf in his trembling hands. He had never been denied anything in his life. He had always been handed everything he wanted on a silver platter with fanfare and reverence. He was a spoiled, silly boy who had never known a day of real work or hunger or hardship. He had fought for her, yes, but he did not truly LOVE her. He THOUGHT he loved her, believed he SHOULD love her because of the day on the beach many years ago. Suddenly he shook his head. "You are in shock and confused ..." he said, a condescending chuckle in his voice.

"Raoul!" she said forcefully, standing up and looking down at him. He was speechless again. "Do not presume to tell me what I am or am not... That is what I mean! THAT is what I do NOT need! From you or anyone! Father, Madame Valerius, Madame Giry, the managers... Even HIM... Everyone has spent their lives telling ME what to do and how to do it or who to be and why. Well, no more! I am me and no one decides my fate but me," she said. "And right now I decide not to decide anything about a wedding..."

The viscount seemed hurt, confused, shocked, angry. He stared at her in disbelief. "Christine you don't know what you're saying... I..."

"Yes I do," she assured him.

They both sighed deeply and she timidly reached out and took his free hand in hers. "Take the scarf and take your leave, monsieur. It is for your own good... I promise you I will be fine. I will send for you if ..." Her voice failed her.

"... If you change your mind..." he added.

She gave an imperceptible nod. He swallowed hard, shook his head as if to wake himself from a nightmare and took up his top hat and overcoat.

"Farewell... Little Lotte," he said as he paused in the doorway.

The door closed on her childhood and opened on her future... whatever that held.


	3. Dear Old Friends

Christine cleaned and reorganized her apartment. Not that it needed it, but it gave her a chance to find cloths and items and give things she did not want or have a use for away to the charity in town or bring to the opera to share. People had begun to ... was the word forgive? ... her and the smiles she received as she swept in with boxes and bags were genuine again. Her new dress of white, black and silver brocade was the very fashion of the day. She sighed deeply and smiled back at her friends... Or were they family? She and Carlotta took tea alone in the diva's dressing room.

"So my dear, 'ow have you been keeping?" the lovely Italian asked, lifting the cup to her lips.

Christine shook her head of long, dark-brown ringlets gently. "More importantly, how have YOU been keeping?" she asked.

The woman closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Some days are better dan oders, but each day gets... easier... Maybe dat is de word?" she added sadly. She shrugged her shapely shoulders. "I tink I have begun to accept what 'appened. I miss 'im so much, I hurt," she said, lifting her trembling hand to her chest and laying it tenderly on her heart.

"I know what it's like to miss someone like that," Christine assured her.

They passed another half hour in pleasant company before the younger woman took her leave, saying, "There is another friend I must pay a call on. I trust you will let me know if I can help you with anything?" she said, taking both her hands in hers.

Carlotta nodded. "Please come to me if YOU need anything."

"I will, madame," she said, offering a reverent curtsy before closing the door behind her.

Just as she rounded the corner into the main foyer of the lobby, she saw the petite blonde she was looking for. Dressed in her rehearsal tutu and point shoes, she looked the same as she always did.

"They said you were here," Meg Giry called happily, opening her arms as she rushed across the marble floor.

"Meg, it's good to see you!" she said, embracing her ballerina sister.

They girls held their hug tightly and for a long time. "It's been to long," Meg said as they pulled apart.

"Firmin said you and your mother were away?"

Meg froze and swallowed. "Yes... We both needed some time away from here..." she said cryptically and quietly.

Christine couldn't help but notice her strange reaction. "Is everything OK?" she questioned, honest concern in her voice.

"Oh yes," the flippant girl answered, waving her hand, dismissing any seriousness away. "Come... I have something to give you... We haven't seen each other since that night..."

They walked the familiar halls of the Palais Garnier and ended up in what was now Meg's private dressing room. Small, unadorned, but her's alone. She opened the door and gestured with pride, ushering Christine in first. "It's not much, but it's mine. Yes, the Prima Ballerina of the Paris Opera is stuck in a closet," she laughed.

Christine giggled and turned to her. Her eyes were full of curiosity. She watched the perky girl gracefully glide to the table beside her mirrored vanity. She opened the drawer and lifted out a white half-mask. Her blue eyes widened. Her heart stopped and then began to race. Her eyes narrowed and she reached out to grab it from her hand. She had no right to posses it.

"How did YOU come to have this?" she snapped, fingering the black satin ribbon as she gazed at it as if gazing into the eyes of her lover.

If she had been looking at her, she would have seen that Meg was giving her rather un-friendly stare. "YOU left him alone to die at the hands of the mob..."

She shook her head and finally looked up at her. "Do not even pretend to me that you know or understand any of what happened down there," she said a bit more sternly than she intended.

"I know more than you think I do," she countered, a twinge of arrogance in her voice.

Silence. Both women let the tenseness fade away.

Christine closed he eyes and drew the mask to her chest. "Thank you..." she whispered.

Then she turned and hurried away. Meg didn't try to stop her.

Did this mean he was still alive? Was he dead, only his mask remaining? She HAD to know and she what she had to do.

Once back in her flat, she arranged to leave her meager sum of money to Carlotta and her flat to the opera for the girls.

Waiting for the cover of darkness, she drew her cape around her and headed to the Rue Scribe side of the Opera House, clutching a large, elaborate wrought iron key and the mask.


End file.
